


Freedom's Just Another Word...

by McKay



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-27
Updated: 2009-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-03 20:22:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McKay/pseuds/McKay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They both coveted treasure above all things, but they never stopped to ask each other if they meant the same thing by the term.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freedom's Just Another Word...

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2007. My first (and so far only) attempt at Pirates of the Caribbean slash! I started writing it after seeing CotBP, got a few paragraphs in, put it aside, and picked it up again after seeing AWE because the flicker of Sparrow/Barbossa I saw in the first film erupted into a conflagration in the third. There aren't any spoilers for AWE in this, however; it's set pre-CotBP.

_It was inevitable, Gibbs told anyone who would listen, that Hector Barbossa would break Jack Sparrow's heart. They were both passionate men, he always said - passionate about the sea, passionate about their livelihood, passionate about each other - but that their passion sprang from a different source in each man meant that tragedy was their fate, and he was not wrong._

_They both coveted treasure above all things, Gibbs always added, but they never stopped to ask each other if they meant the same thing by the term. Not until it was too late did they learn that what would satisfy one would not satisfy the other, and by then, well, the cards were dealt, weren't they, and there was no ending the game until one of them was dead._

_But there was a time when things weren't always so dire between them..._

"When I'm a captain, I want a hat." Hector took another swig of rum and held out the bottle to Jack. "A really big one."

"Do you now?" Jack leaned against the rail and smirked at him, but he didn't refuse the rum. "Overcompensating for something, are we?"

Hector gave a short, harsh bark of laughter. "Hell, no. Advertising!"

That coaxed a laugh out of Jack too, a lighter, less sardonic sound. "You keep saying that, mate, and never show me the proof of it." He held up the bottle to his lips and tipped his head back, guzzling more than his share of the rum, but there was always more rum to be had on Captain Jack Sparrow's ship.

It was a hot, still night, and the sea looked like black glass, the waves breaking against the hull of the _Pearl_ not big enough even to have white caps; they barely rocked the ship in a slow rhythm like sleepy sex without any haste or desperation, just a gradual build to nirvana. The rest of the crew were gone, rollicking and ransacking in Tortuga. Tomorrow, Jack would venture on land to recruit a handful of new crew members, but tonight, he was in the mood to drink in peace without getting into a fight, getting slapped, or getting charged for rum he hadn't drunk once he was too pissed to keep track of the mugs.

"I didn't know you had a notion to see for yourself," Hector replied, plucking the bottle from Jack's hand.

"Well, you never asked, did you."

"Jack..." Hector shook his head and laughed, a real laugh this time, and Jack was reminded anew that no one else said his name the way Hector did, lengthening the "a" and softening the harsh "k", as if he was drawing it out simply because he liked the feel of it on his tongue.

He knew he ought to reprimand Hector for taking a liberty, but they had known each other too long and Hector had seen him in too many less than commanding situations for him to care whether Hector called him "Captain" or "Jack" in their private moments, a technicality it didn't suit him to enforce, although later, he had cause to wonder if perhaps he should have. He had served under his dad on the _Pearl_ for over ten years until Dad had decided to retire and enjoy his treasure (and Mum, but mostly his treasure) while he still had all his limbs intact. But being the captain's son hadn't given him any advantages. Far from it - Dad had stopped calling him "Jackie" and referred to him as "Piss Boy" for a year until he decided Jack had spent enough time performing the most menial, revolting tasks he could find or invent and had earned a promotion to a position that involved slightly less menial, revolting tasks. By the time Dad stepped down, Jack knew every inch of the _Pearl_ by sight, scent, and touch like it was his long-time lover. He could walk around blindfolded and know where he was just by brushing his hand along the wood.

And the _Pearl_ knew him. When he took the wheel for the first time, the ship - one day to be _his_ ship - responded as sweetly as any blushing virgin, and he knew the _Pearl_ recognized him as its rightful master-to-be. Others on board, however, didn't feel the same way. Hector Barbossa had served as First Mate to Jack's dad, and now he served as First Mate to Jack, but it chafed at times. Not that he didn't see the hard labor Jack endured as he worked his way up and proved he was worthy to command a ship like the _Pearl_, but Hector had worked just as hard and had been there longer.

They were both passionate, headstrong men, but the difference between them was this.

Jack loved three things: the _Pearl_, rum, and Hector Barbossa, not necessarily in that order depending on when you asked him.

Hector loved one thing: freedom. Not that he wasn't fond of Jack, but his need to be free and even more, to be under no one's command but his own, was stronger than any other urge driving him. But then there were times such as this one when the sky was clear, the stars were bright, and the rum was good, times when he forgot and thought perhaps he loved Jack too.

He reached out and touched Jack's hair, letting the dark strands wind around his fingers. It had been building up to this night, this thing between them, perhaps waiting for a peaceful night like this when they were both half pissed and alone, and there was no chance any of the crew could stumble upon them unawares if they touched each other in a way that was not considered natural between men. Not that there was anyone in the crew who could claim he had never touched or been touched by one of his mates during a long voyage when the next port with willing women was still far away and need ran high, but it wasn't like this with heartbeats quickening and knowing glances and hesitant touches that could mean everything or nothing. This wasn't born of necessity but of desire, and they both knew it was mutual.

"Do you want to see, then?" It was a bolder act than either of them had dared before, but Hector had never been one to hesitate when the moment seemed right.

Jack's kohl-lined eyes flashed in the dim light, bright and mischievous, followed by one of those quicksilver smiles. "Indeed I do. Ocular proof is always the best kind when it comes to judging the value of any treasure."

Hector made a derisive noise at that, but he didn't hesitate to unfasten his heavy belt and drape it over a nearby barrel; they had both long since discarded their frock coats and were down to their shirtsleeves in deference to the heat, still sweltering even well after sundown. Shifting his waistcoat aside, he reached for the whale bone buttons on his breeches, but Jack shook his head, tutting his disapproval.

"No, no - if you're going to do this, do it _right_. Show me the whole package." Jack made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the entire length of Hector's body. "Not just _the_ package."

"Am I understanding you to say you want me to strip down to my skin out here?" Hector stared at him, as he didn't quite believe what he had heard.

"Who's to see except me and perhaps a voyeuristic mermaid, should such a thing exist and should it happen to come along at this precise moment in time?" Jack made a point of looking around. "The crew are all gone, and the nearest ship is way off over there," he said, waving toward another ship docked some distance away. "Even the seagulls are asleep." An evil smile curved his full lips. "Unless you don't dare."

Hector drew himself up proudly. "How do I know this isn't some kind of trick?"

"Would I do something like that?"

The look Hector gave him was an eloquent response all its own, and Jack had to concede there was a point to be taken. Jack's expression turned thoughtful, and he stroked the straggly wisp of a beard he had been cultivating for months. "In that case, would it assuage your keen sense of fair play and paranoia if I stripped down as well?" he asked, his tone far more casual than he himself felt in that moment where everything seemed to hang in the balance between them.

"It would at that." Hector eyed him dubiously. "Who goes first?"

"We could alternate." In the spirit of compromise, he plopped himself down on the deck and tugged off his boots, tossing them aside and grinning wickedly up at Hector, looking for all the world like a boy getting up to mischief. "Your turn."

Balancing himself with his hand on the rail, Hector shifted his weight to his left leg and stuck out his right foot. "A little help?"

A smirk tugged at his mouth when Jack willingly grasped his boot and tugged it off; it was, perhaps, an unwise move on Jack's part to take the subservient role of Hector's valet, even temporarily, but Jack was witty and wicked but not always wise, and he had wanted this for a very long time. He removed Hector's left boot as well and stretched out his hand; Hector clasped it and pulled him upright, and there they stood in their shirtsleeves and stockings under the clear starry sky, warm palms pressed together as they waited to see who would risk making the next move, the one that might shift their game from a simple dare to something with far greater consequences than paying a forfeit for backing out.

It was Jack who did it, tightening his grip on Hector's hand and pushing up just enough that he could press his lips against Hector's. His virginity was long since gone, given and taken without a qualm, and he knew the pleasures to be had with both women and men, but this was the first time he had ever kissed a man. It was the first time he had kissed Hector, and that made it almost like being a virgin again. Hector was still for a moment, perhaps surprised, perhaps uncertain, but he recovered quickly enough, parting his lips, and Jack didn't wait for a second invitation to plunder.

There were no ardent embraces between them; they clenched their fingers around each other's hand, nails digging in and drawing blood as they devoured each other's mouths, desperate and rapacious. Jack nudged Hector, subtly herding him until his back hit the mast, and as quick as thought, he yanked Hector's hand up over his head and closed one of the manacles around it.

The manacles had hung from the heavy iron hook on the mast for as long as Jack could remember, although he had only seen them put to use twice while his dad was captain. The first time was when Dad had punished a mutineer. The second time... Well, Jack was only thirteen and unschooled in the ways of the flesh (except his own, which he knew _quite_ well by then), but even he had recognized there was no punishment in what was going on _that_ time.

Mostly they hung there as a silent reminder of what could happen if orders were disobeyed, and Jack's dad had rarely used them. If he grew angry enough to order a flogging, the perpetrator was lucky if all he came away with was a permanent limp or the inability to use one of his arms. The manacles were a mute testament to the fact that you did not want to get the captain angry, and they worked quite well.

Jack rarely used the manacles for punishment, and he had never used them for "punishment". He, like his dad and unlike his mum, was slow to anger, and even before the mutiny and abandonment when something in his brain had gone "ping!" and broken at the very idea that Hector could, would, and _had_ done that to him, Jack sauntered through life with the air of one who was watching a mad comedy in which anything could happen and rules were more like guidelines. Naturally, Jack was the leading man, and he never did quite comprehend there were things he couldn't do if he put his mind to it or things he couldn't have if he really wanted them.

Thus to his mind, Hector belonged to him as much as the _Pearl_ did. He simply hadn't told Hector that yet.

Before Hector could rally his rum-soaked brain and realize one wrist was already caught, Jack grabbed his other wrist and clapped the second manacle around it, and the reality of being bound to the mast by the long-disused manacles slowly sank in and made Hector turn fish-mouthed as he gaped at Jack, who appeared quite pleased with himself.

"What's this?" Hector demanded, and he yanked at the chains, but they didn't yield.

Jack smirked and minced backward, regarding his handiwork with satisfaction. "It's my plan," he said.

Hector went utterly still. "You mean to kill me after all we've been through together? Haven't I served you well? Jack..."

Jack greeted that remark with a disdainful roll of his eyes. "No, of course I don't mean to kill you. This is a _reward_."

Hector regarded him dubiously. "I prefer my rewards to be a little more shiny and a little less confining."

"You'll like this." Jack's face lit up with anticipation as he hurried away, headed back to his cabin, leaving Hector to rattle the chains and shout useless demands for Jack to come back and release him, liberally peppered with obscenities and slurs against Jack's hygiene, parentage, and mental stability.

He fell silent only when Jack returned bearing a flask. He recognized it and knew what it held. Of course, he did; he'd been there when Jack bought it in a crowded Arabian market, had even made salacious remarks about what use Jack could put its contents to. Since then, he'd seen it on the shelf in Jack's cabin, the fluid level remaining the same, and he had idly wondered why Jack had bought it if he wasn't planning to use it. He had never imagined Jack might use it with _him_.

Oh, but Jack did. Afterward, Hector could scarcely believe how swiftly Jack had turned him round and unfastened his breeches or how willingly he had let it happen. Before he could think about what they were doing and where, much less the wisdom of it. Of letting wee, fey Jack - his captain, his rival, the man he wanted who stood between him and the thing he wanted even more - tie him up and bugger him.

A scent that reminded him of rich spiced honey wafted to him, blending with the rum in his blood and making him light-headed. He felt the warm press of Jack's body against his back, and he clenched his fingers around the chains until his knuckles turned white as Jack entered him in a slick-smooth slide of honey scented flesh. Jack's cock was long and slender like Jack's fingers. Not at all thick, but it felt like a cannon to Hector, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out at the stretching pain. He felt Jack's pelvis against his arse, felt Jack's long and slender fingers clenching on his hips, felt Jack's hot breath puffing against the back of his neck as they stood, just stood, adjusting to the feel of this strange new joining.

Then Jack began to move, setting a slow and rocking rhythm that matched the waves slapping against the side of the _Pearl_, and the pain receded, replaced by an ache of pleasure and longing that kindled in Hector's belly and spread throughout his body. He pushed back, and Jack took the hint, thrusting faster and harder until they were both panting, their shirts clinging to their flushed and sweat-wet skin. Jack released Hector's hip and snaked one hand around to grasp Hector's cock, his oiled fingers warm and slick and exquisite. Jack was moaning, and the rhythm of his pumping hips was growing desperate, and Hector no longer bothered trying to hold back the sounds of his pleasure, his moans echoing Jack's, the sound of their passion-rough voices making the sleeping seagulls lift their weary heads.

Hector came first, his back bowing and a sharp cry spilling from his lips as his seed spattered the mast, seeping into the wood, and Jack followed a moment later, grinding his hips against Hector's arse as he tried to bury himself deeper. He slumped against Hector's back, not caring about the heat rolling off their skin, and Hector felt something that might have been a kiss against the side of his throat.

At last, Jack pulled back and away, and Hector could hear the rustle of fabric as Jack straightened his clothes. Then Jack's hands were on him again, turning him until he faced Jack's sly, knowing smile.

"You belong to me and the _Pearl_," Jack said, his voice low and husky, and he reached out to splay his palm over Hector's heart. "You're bound to both of us now."

They stared at each other in the darkness, the night once again silent except for the lap of the waves and their own ragged breathing, and after an eternity, Jack fished the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the manacles. Hector lowered his arms and rubbed his wrists where the edge of the manacles had chafed his skin. There would be bruises, but no scars. The permanent marks this night had left on both of them could never be seen.

Hector wanted to deny Jack's claim, but he couldn't. The word "no" died on his lips, because he knew it wasn't true. He belonged to Jack and to the _Pearl_, and he always would, fight it as he may.

Months later, he watched the island dwindle into the distance and told himself he was a free man at last, and he bought himself a big hat in the first port they reached.


End file.
